Saturday, March 25, 2017

Mum and Dad were over last weekend and he jumped on my lap and sat there listening to our conversation the whole time. He follows me around everywhere, endearing himself so he won’t be given away. He’s gaslighting me with his cuteness. He’s trying to act all coy so I will convince Scotto to let me keep him.

I re-located Hodor into a new coop with his own little harem, the four silkie chickens, Theon Greyjoy, Joffrey and two new gingers, Ygritte the Second and Tormund Giantsbane.

Ygritte and Tormund

His other girlfriend, Jon Snow, has turned all broody and is currently sitting on nine eggs fertilised by none other than 'imself.

He’s a bit of a lad with the ladies even though smells like a petting zoo and kicks them in the gizzards when they take his bread.

Speaking of the rustic life, I’ve seen about a million cows this week and killed a plethora of cane toads and one silly unfortunate bird who failed to see my car until too late.

R.I.P inattentive bird; I felt sick to my stomach for half an hour after I hit it.

The road leading into the country town I work at is highly susceptible to flooding and this week I found myself taking a rural detour adding another 25 minutes to my already lengthy journey. On Monday I didn’t realise the road was blocked so I had to backtrack which meant my commute to work took three, fudging, ashmole, bastard hours.

I have to divert to a grazing community where it’s so rough the school zone speed limit is 80 kms an hour. I wish I was joking.

Country kids are very tough and can run pretty fast apparently.

We had a twilight meeting at school that night too so I had to drive home along an unfamiliar, one lane country road in the fudging dark.

It took eleven One Direction songs on my USB just to get to a vaguely urban area with one flickering street light.

As if that wasn’t punishment enough, when I finally reached the foot of our slippery, twisting mountain road, it began raining heavily and when I at last reached the summit, the cloud cover was so thick I couldn’t see more than two metres in front of me.

I’m starting to think someone wants me dead.

Is God punishing me for taking sneaky looks at FB?.

The boss at work suggested I check the local council Facebook page to check for road closures. But I told her that since I’ve given up FB for Lent, she would have to do it for me and ring me by 6:30am. She directed me to the Bureau of Meteorology instead.

My daughter Lulu has been trying to bait me to break my FB promise by posting extremely provocative taunts online. My friend Kathy from 50 Shades of Age has also been tagging me with adorable Chihuahua posts.

You’ll be pleased to know that I have remained resolute (except for very quick peeks). I just get Scotto to comment on my behalf.

Thursday, March 16, 2017

* Still using title generator, lol.Last night, at about three in the morning, I reached over to grab my water bottle and as I sucked thirstily on the life force within, I felt something light-footed and sinister, scrabble down my delicate wrist. It felt like either a small spider or a cockroach crawling along my arm.

In my dazed state, I flicked whatever it was over to Scotto’s side of the bed, rolled over and went back to sleep.

I think I might have woken up about an hour later and casually mused on the possible locality of the diminutive but possibly vicious invertebrate.

Could it be back on my side of the covers, snuggled against my thigh, ready to sink its fangs in? Frankly, I didn’t give a shit at that stage because I was delirious with exhaustion.

The next morning, Scotto regaled me with an animated (but slightly boring) story about how he woke up in the dead of night because he sensed a cold blooded creature which had unceremoniously landed on his back.

He expressed concern that it might have been a spider but he thought it looked a bit more solid in the dull light of dawn. "Perhaps like a bug, or a cockroach," he said thoughtfully. An hour later he felt it land on his arm. He’d still failed to get a good look at it though, so he couldn’t be sure what it was. A scorpion? A Toe-biter?

I just kept my mouth closed about my own personal, moderately distressing incident with the unknown organism. No need for Scotto to know about my lack of concern for his nocturnal welfare.

He didn't need to know I’d possibly flicked a funnel web spider onto him in a willy-nilly absence of attention towards his personal welfare.

After all, he is supposed to be a tough fire fighter and all.

Sexy firefighter husband

But it’s funny how I’m not scared of spiders in the middle of the night when I feel sleepy but I’m absolutely terrified of them when I’m fully awake, don’t you think?

Wednesday, March 8, 2017

I’ve given up my personal Facebook page for Lent after the disgraceful post I accidentally put on my dear friend, Alana’s Facebook feed.

It was the least I could do. I just don’t trust FB anymore.

Facebook is the new Satan.

Anyway, yesterday, when I was at the new and lovely Catholic school I work at, waiting for my class to line up, one of the teachers squirreled over to me and furtively informed me that I should most definitely consider purchasing a ‘Cock Collar’.

I can just picture me wandering in to Target and asking the pimply faced attendant if they have any Cock Collars.

Why is life so fudging hard?

P.S. We need a cock collar for our spiteful and detestable Pekin rooster who has begun crowing (as well as kick-boxing the hens in the fanny at every opportunity) and the only people who are willing to adopt him want to kill him and eat him.

Saturday, March 4, 2017

On Wednesday night, as I sat on the couch staring at the telly by myself (Scotto was at a sexy fireman’s meeting), I suddenly realised that the cat had not galloped out to the car to greet me when I’d arrived home a few hours previously.

It was unusual as she always welcomes my arrival home because that’s how she reminds me to feed her and otherwise she’d starve to death.

I went outside calling her and eventually she emerged from the shrubbery, piteously mewing, with one leg dragging dramatically behind her.

Gammy leg: taken after treatment just so you don't think I'm exploiting my cat.

Hagar (twenty-three year old son) and I brought her into the kitchen and frenetically rifled through her fur searching for a paralysis tick whilst I desperately tried to remember the exorbitant cost of paralysis tick antidote.

“Was it six thousand dollars or two?” I pondered. “How much do I actually love this fifteen year old cat?” I internally debated.

I speculated it was $6000 for a snake bite treatment and only $2000 for a tick. I began praying for a tick.

However, we failed to find any ticks (but we did notice an inquisitive and brazen thread worm spiralling from her bum).

“Call the vet, Mum!” insisted Hagar. “Bugger the cost. She could be suffering.”

"Just shut up while I think!" I barked back as I I hearkened the cha ching of my online bank account as the numbers went down

Reluctantly, I rang the vet (whilst marvelling on how I ended up with Francis of Assisi as a son).

I didn’t mention the worm to the vet out of shame even though it’s not really my fault she spits out her worm medication or bites us when we attempt to shove a tablet down her throat.

It was with jubilation that I received the vet’s advice it was highly unlikely she was sporting a tick and it was most probably a mere injury so I should just bring her in to the surgery in the morning and monitor her overnight.

It was Scotto’s job to take her in (as I had to go to work in Woop Woop) so he placed her in the cat carrier where, during the journey, she somehow managed to place her wormy bum up against the cage door and spray the interior of his car with urine.

Thankfully it was not feaces because we all know how much cat poo stinks. Not that urine doesn’t smell but one must always look for positives.

The chief problem with this incident is that Scotto is currently driving a courtesy car whilst his bat mobile is in the workshop getting fixed.

I think he bought the IGA out of bicarbonate of soda and car deodorant.

I suspect he didn’t buy $360 worth though, which is what my vet’s bill was after an x-ray and anti-inflammatories for a torn feline ligament.

The vet deduced she’s been tarting around at night, clearly been caught in a tight spot and needed to get away in a hurry; crazy loose bitch that she is.

At least Scotto managed to convince the vet to worm her.

I’m imagining she was probably more worm than cat at that stage.

Any advice on getting a cat to take worm medication?

P.S. I bought her for $20 and she is now up to the $1500 mark and skating on thin ice.

*P.P.S If you are wondering about the title of this post, I tried out a 'Title Generator" using key words and am still perfecting it.

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